by Tamara Gill
“You are worthy, never think otherwise,” she said softly.
Even as uneducated in the art of love that she was, she was able to distinguish the burning desire he had for her when she saw it. And she saw it now, in the depths of his eyes, a yearning to be free, to forget what ailed him and lose himself in her.
Cecilia kissed him again, leaning up and taking his mouth in much the same way as he’d kissed her in the carriage. Unhindered, without restraint and with a need that pulled at her own wants and desires she’d long buried.
Hunter as he now wanted her to call him roused all her buried wants, her dreams of a life with a man. Not just any man, like the one her father wished her to marry, but a man who excited her, stimulated her mind and soul, vexed and maddened in all the most wonderful ways.
A life with Lord Aaron…
“I’ve longed for you. You make me forget who I’ve been, and see what I can become.” His voice, roughened and deep sent her pulse to skip a beat. She fought not to kiss him again until they were both lost in their own world. “Let me love you. Let me have you.”
Cecilia leaned back and captured his gaze. “I will stay with you, help you as best as I know how, but I cannot allow you the liberties that you ask. But I will give you as much as I can.”
“Your soul is so pure. Mine is as dark as the devil himself.”
She caressed his stubble roughened cheek. “Then it is lucky that I do not have idle hands, for there is no place in this room for the devil’s work and you will be well again. I promise you that.”
Chapter 9
By late that evening Lord Aaron was wrenching about in his bed, his skin clammy and dripping with sweat. His lordship constantly begged for a dram of whisky, anything, anyone to help him. Cecilia ordered the butler to pour all the remaining alcohol in the home down the drain, and she also ordered the cook to hide any beverages of the kind that she used in her cooking. Nothing was to remain in the house that his lordship could drink if any one of them turned their back on him for even a moment.
Cecilia sat beside his bed, holding his hand. “Please, Lia, just a little drink,” he said, making the nickname he’d bestowed on her sound endearing, even if he only seemed to have used it in the last few hours. It was the name her mother had called her as a child, and she adored it, even more, coming from the lips of Lord Aaron.
She shouldn’t, of course, he was so far above her in station, had demons that even she didn’t know if they could remove, not to mention to marry such a man could limit her charities or at least the amount she was involved in them. He may have previously stated he wished to change, to help others, but what if that lifestyle bored him. What if he grew weary of her.
Cecilia was terrible at needlework or idly walking in parks merely to be seen, she had always felt out of place in such situations. Not to mention, her father relied upon her too, to help out with his cases and do his bookwork. Not that Mr. White thought she was useful, but Cecilia had always harboured the idea that if she could prove to her father she was capable, he would allow her to inherit.
Would the marquess in time expect her to be a pretty ornament on his arm, behave and hold her tongue. The life of one of the upper ten-thousand was not for her, no matter how much his lordship beckoned her soul to try. The risk was great, and she wasn’t sure she was capable of such a gamble.
But she would assist him like she helped so many people in need. Help him regain who he once was so he may marry wisely and hopefully with love and affection. Make more of his life than the silly folly he’d partaken in to date.
“I cannot give you what you want, Hunter.” She bathed his forehead with a damp cloth and tried to soothe him with talk of her charities, of idle gossip, anything to take his mind off what his body craved. The hours ticked by and as dawn broke the night sky into a golden haze, Lord Aaron was worse.
She stood beside the duke, biting her bottom lip as she thought of how to keep his lordship safe, from himself and others. “We need to tie him to the bed. He’s too large to control, and if he took flight, it would take a lot of us to overpower him. His need for alcohol will make his strength double.”
“How do you know all this, Miss Smith?” the duke asked, looking down at her.
She frowned, staring at the marquess who lay crunched up on the bed, clutching at his stomach. “As you know, I work and run charities for children mostly, but I do have a small charity that I run for the parents of the children I help. These parents have never had a good life, never had opportunities and at every turn, seemed to be kicked and trodden on by life and those who should be there to guide and help them make the right choices. A lot of these parents have drinking problems or other medicinal addictions. The troubles Lord Aaron now faces means it’ll be a month before he’s feeling himself again. But he’ll never be truly free. This fight will be a life-long one I’m afraid.”
“God help him. And God bless you for doing such charity. I know my duchess speaks quite highly of you, and now I know why.”
Cecilia nodded, but the fear and concern she had for the marquess did diminish the kernel of pride that the duke awoke in her. He was so very ill, perhaps more addicted than she had imagined. “The duchess has been a pillar of strength and friendship for me these past twelve months. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate her help. We need more of it if we’re to change the boroughs of London and their outcomes for those less fortunate.”
“I’m sure you will always have it.”
The marquess yelled out, groaning and Cecilia walked to his tall chest of drawers and rummaged through his clothing until she found what she was looking for. “Take these cravats and tie his arms to the bedhead. The marquess will have to be contained for the next few days possibly.”
The staff who stood in the room looked horrified by her words, but with a nod from the duke, they did as she asked. Seeing the marquess in his current state left a hollow void in her chest. How she loathed that he fought such demons, had well and truly lost against them, but no more. She would help him through this, she and his friends would not let him fail this test.
The day wore on, and the duchess came to sit with her for a few hours, gave Cecilia time to bathe and allow Hunter’s manservant to wash his master. Evening approached, and Cecilia stood at the marquess’s windows that overlooked his back garden and stared at the silver light from the moon that bathed the garden.
“Cecilia, come sit with me.”
She turned to see the marquess staring at her from under hooded lids, eyes that were slowly clearing and becoming clearer as the alcohol left his body. Walking over to him, she sat on the edge of the bed, taking the opportunity to bathe his forehead and face. He was so very handsome, even in his state and dishevelment she had to admit that she liked him, was attracted to him from the very first moment she’d met him. She wiped the cloth down his neck to the vee of his shirt.
Heat prickled her skin as her imagination ran away from her. What was she doing thinking about what lay under his shirt with his lordship as sick as he was?
“I’m going to be sick, Cecilia. Please, untie me and fetch me the bowl. Quickly,” he said.
She did as he asked, and only just managed to get the bowl over to the bed before he cast up his accounts. He heaved, over and over before flopping back onto the bed, spent.
Cecilia rang for a servant, ordering tea and ginger biscuits if the cook had any. She then went about removing Hunter’s shirt, wiping his clammy body down, all the while trying not to blush or gawk at the toned muscles that had a fine dusting of hair. Over the next few days, his lordship’s progress ebbed and flowed in an array of stages. Anger, contrite, begging to railing at them all. Having been away from home for a few days, she returned to Cheapside, only to find her father waiting for her in his library.
“I wish to speak with you, Cecilia. Now.”
His tone didn’t bode well, and a small stab of concern pierced her gut. She entered the room, features masked, only to find Mr. White seated before he
r father, his slimy features smirking in her direction.
“Good morning, father. Mr., White.”
“You’re back from your orphanage in Hampshire I see.”
She did as he bade and clasped her hands in her lap. “As you see. My work there took a few days longer than I expected, and later today I’m to attend a charity meeting at Old Bell Tavern.”
Her father stared at her with indifference and the concern she had before doubled. Why was he so out of sorts? And why was Mr. White here? Her father knew she hated the man, especially after he took liberties in the carriage that were not returned. The vile piece of flesh had no shame and her father either did not believe her or did not care.
Cecilia pushed down the hurt that thought conjured, and steeled herself for what she feared was to come.
“I had some time the last two days, and so I took the opportunity to visit you in Hampshire, but you can imagine my surprise when I arrived at your country school and orphanage only to hear the headmistress tell me she had not seen or heard from you in relation to your supposed visit. I returned home but found you were not here or at any of the London orphanages and schools you run. So,” her father said, steepling his hands beneath his chin, the frown line between his eyes as deep as the Thames river. “Where were you, Cecilia?”
She swallowed and refused to look at the smirking Mr. White who for the first time in his life had no opinion it would seem on her disappearance. “A father of one of the children was in need of help. I along with the people who assist me often with these types of troubles, helped me nurse him, and he’s now recovering at home.”
“Really, then please do explain why Mr. White saw you enter Lord Aaron’s home. A place you have been ensconced the past few days?”
Cecilia did look at the little vermin then. How she loathed the man, his greed and uncharitable nature. “You followed me? How dare you?”
He merely chuckled before the slamming of her father’s fist on the table broke her fury directed at the bastard.
“How dare Mr. White? How dare you, Cecilia. Are you mad, child? To be entering an unmarried gentleman’s home in the dead of night? What were you doing there? No, please, don’t answer that,” he said standing and rounding the table toward her. He pulled her to stand, and for the first time in her life he manhandled her, squeezing her arms. “How dare you place your reputation in jeopardy in such a way. I ought to throw you out of my home.”
Cecilia wrenched free and took a step away from her father. Never had she seen him so angry before. His voice was calm, yet there was a steel tone of loathing she’d never heard before and panic lodged in her throat that maybe she’d overstepped his bounds.
“I apologize for helping Lord Aaron, but it was at the behest of the duke and duchess of Athelby. They were there the entire time, you may ask them yourself. And if you’re worried that Lord Aaron abused me in some way you’re mistaken. We are simply trying to get him better.”
“Well, I shall ask the duke and duchess what they think they’re doing taking my unmarried, maiden daughter into the home of a renowned rake. I shall ask them to explain their high and mighty decision to put your reputation in jeopardy. You, Cecilia, shall heed this warning, and you shall do as I say from this moment on.”
Her gaze flicked to Mr. White who again looked too pleased for himself by far. “What do you mean by that? And as for my reputation, I can assure you it is quite sound and not in any jeopardy unless this information is leaked to Society and what I’ve been doing the last few days becomes public knowledge.”
Her father stiffened. “Are you insinuating that Mr. White would go to the press with such rumours?”
“If it made it impossible for you to refuse his designs of me becoming his wife, then yes, I think him capable of such underhanded ways.”
Mr. White feigned shock, clasping his chest for added dramatics. “I would never do such a thing, Mr. Smith. I assure you.”
Cecilia scoffed. “You are no gentleman, Sir. No man of any moral value assaults women in carriages. And if you think I’m going to marry this swine because I have helped Lord Aaron you’re sadly mistaken. I shall walk away from my life here with you if you try and force my hand and make me marry Mr. White.”
Her father’s face mottled in anger. “You have no choice but to marry Mr. White as without doing so I shall stop all funding toward the charities you’re so very fond of. It is about time that you settled, had children that will inherit the firm. Mr. White is willing to take your hand, even if this latest news becomes public knowledge and your reputation is ruined. He is smart, from a respectable family and loves you. You will obey, Cecilia. That is my final word.”
Cecilia stormed from the room, slamming the door closed behind her. Tears blurred her vision as she climbed the stairs. How dare either of them speak and demand such things of her? She would not do it, she could not give herself to such a man.
She made it to her room and snipping the lock went to stand at the window. Hundreds of children relied on her. Many, many families needed her to give them a chance, to keep the orphanages and schools going so their children might have some future. She had no doubt her father would be as vindictive as he threatened and take away the funds, therefore unless she had a large investor who was willing to take the expense on, there was nothing she could do. The Duchess of Athelby already donated a significant amount, she couldn’t ask for more, it wouldn’t be fair.
Would it?
Cecilia worked her bottom lip, before sitting at her desk and pulling out a piece of parchment. She could never marry a man she did not love so she would have to beg the duchess for help. Her pride would need to take a seat so she could secure her other greatest love, the children. That was all that mattered now.
Chapter 10
Hunter squinted as the bright sunlight streamed into his room. He stared at the blue sky beyond and did a mental check of how he felt. Good. Better than he’d felt for a long time. Weeks in fact and he knew who he had to thank for such nursing. The same woman who sat beside the fire, mending a button on one of his shirts if he weren’t mistaken.
The image was so reminiscent of a married, family life that he smiled. He liked having her here, talking to him, calming him, being in his room as if it was a common and ordinary thing for her to do.
Which it was not.
Even he knew in his state of delirium that Miss Smith, Lia as he’d come to call her, should not be here, chaperoned by the Duke and Duchess of Athelby or not.
“Lia, can you ring for tea, please. I’m in need of sustenance.”
She looked up, her bright blue eyes twisting an emotion in his chest he didn’t want to think about at the moment, although when better, he would have to admit for what he’d come to feel toward her. Miss Smith was quite literally the woman who saved his life.
He adored her.
“How are you feeling this morning,” she said, coming over and sitting on his bed as if it were the most normal thing to do. They were on dangerous ground, Lia and him. Should she have sat on his bed when he was in his cups, there was no doubt he would’ve leaned forward and kissed those, perfectly rosy lips and try and seduce her.
“For the first time in as long as I can remember I feel clear headed.” His stomach rumbled and Cecilia chuckled. “And I’m hungry by the sounds of that,” he said, smiling.
“I’ll have breakfast brought up to you as soon as they arrive with your tea.” She rose from the bed and sat in the chair beside it, seemingly rethinking her location. “I thought we’d go outside for a little while today. You’ve been indoors for almost a month, and it would do you good to have fresh air and a little sun.”
The idea, as menial and boring as it sounded lifted his spirits. It would be delightful to be out of this room, as long as he had Cecilia’s company. “You will join me?”
“I will. I’m here until lunch, and then the duchess and duke will take over for me. We have a little schedule going, you see.” She smiled, a sincere gesture he did
n’t see too often in the ton. Hunter studied her, she was a marvellous girl, and she would make a perfect mistress. He would lavish her with gifts and freedom she’d never known, so long as she shared his bed, and only his bed.
Three weeks later Hunter was well enough to attend his first evening out about town. The duke and duchess sat across from him in the landau. They hadn’t said the words, but Hunter understood why they were with him. To watch and ensure he did not lapse into the life of drunkenness and folly that he’d partaken in before.
Miss Smith sat beside him, her pensive gaze staring out at the busy streets beyond. Over the last week, she’d been distant, pulling away from him whenever she came to keep him company and ensure again he didn’t seek out his whisky.
Although the staff had poured out every ounce he owned, Hunter had his own little bottle hidden in his room, and yet he’d not sought it out. It was almost a test against himself, a wager to see if he had the willpower not to touch it.
Not that it hadn’t been hard ignoring it, it was torture. He longed to feel the burn of the golden liquid sliding down his throat, leaving him warm and comforted. Losing the ability to handle his drink, not being able to have such repast in the future was a longing he fought every day to ignore. If it weren’t for his friends, Lia included, he would not have made it as far as he had.
The light headed beauty beside him met his gaze as if she was privy to his thoughts. He would kiss her tonight, sneak her away and do what he’d wanted to for weeks.
The carriage rolled to a stop before Sir Colten’s London home, and they waited for a footman to become available to open their door. Once inside, they greeted their hosts and made their way through the throng of guests.
Some cast odd glances at the appearance of Miss Smith, a woman not of their sphere, who in some of their eyes should not be attending. But with the Duke and Duchess of Athelby supporting her, they dare not speak a word about it.
